


Mine and Yours

by TheRealKateKane



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Dom/sub, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Praise Kink, Restraints, Rough Sex, Spanking, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealKateKane/pseuds/TheRealKateKane
Summary: Any time Lucina had a rough day, all she had to do was knock. A few moments might pass, but the wooden door would creak open, and she would be ushered in. And when the door was shut behind her, it would be locked.





	Mine and Yours

**Author's Note:**

> I really needed a break from writing Slow Burn, and I needed to practice writing sexy bits because it's been a while since I've written anything smutty. Even though this has nothing to do with my other fic, I am placing it in the same universe as Slow Burn because I want to. Maybe I'll tie it in at some point.
> 
> I also obviously really like this whole "different versions of the same hero" thing.

She was always there.

Any time Lucina had a rough day, all she had to do was knock. A few moments might pass, but the wooden door would creak open, and she would be ushered in. And when the door was shut behind her, it would be locked.

She thought it might be easier in this world, fighting alongside the Order of Heroes. Her world had been saved. Grima had been slain, her mother and father were safe raising an infant Lucina who would not grow up to lose both parents and face the end of the world. They had won and saved Ylisse, but not for her. She was from a future that, thanks to their actions, no longer existed. She felt out of place, not sure where she belonged. It had actually been a relief when she’d been summoned to Askr.

Askr was not Ylisse, and while there were many familiar faces in the Order, they were also different. She was one of many Heroes from dozens of different worlds and times. All of them were out of place. She was no longer the leader of an army of sons and daughters from the future, fighting to save their parents, their kingdom, their world. She was just one more hero, and while she still fought alongside them to save the world, it was not _her_ world.

It turned out that it did not matter. She still felt the weight of it crippling her. She still felt guilt like a white-hot knife in the gut any time a comrade fell. It only worsened when the summoner had made her a lieutenant in the Order, charged with leading missions of her own.

There were days when it became too much. Days when she could not push the faces of all those she had failed out of her mind. Days when regret gnawed at her constantly, an ever-present weight of dread in her gut. Days when she still felt Grima’s hot breath on her face, still felt the sting of blood not her own splattering her brow, tasted it on her lips. Days would bleed into nights where she awoke in a cold sweat with the screams of anguish still echoing in her ears.

Those were the rough days.

There was only one thing she had found to assuage her guilt, one way she had managed to calm her mind and quiet the demons of her past. There was only one way that she felt safe and protected.

So, she had knocked on the door.

When Robin answered, she immediately drew Lucina into an embrace. She wasn’t sure how the tactician always knew without her ever having to say a word, but she did. She always knew exactly what Lucina needed. She led her by the hand to the bed and sat on the edge of it, and Lucina dropped to her knees at her feet, rested her head on her lap, and wrapped her arms around her calves. She was rewarded by slender fingers working their way through her hair.

“Rough day?” Robin asked gently even though she knew the answer. The question was used to measure precisely how bad of a day it was, evaluate Lucina’s headspace. When the younger woman just nodded into her lap, it was clear that she needed a great deal of care. “Tell me.”

Lucina shook her head. She needed Robin to make the decision for her. Or perhaps, more accurately, she needed the choice taken away from her. But how was she supposed to articulate that? How could Robin expect her to?

“Come on, darling. Tell me.” Robin tried again, her fingers began working the muscles of her neck and at the base of her skull with long, precise strokes. She knew that was where the princess carried all her tension, the muscles of her neck and shoulders knotting and seizing until something or someone eased the strain. “I cannot help you until you talk to me.”

Upset, Lucina just shook her head more vehemently this time, her hands fisting in the loose fabric of the tactician’s trousers. Her eyes stung with the frustration of her inner conflict. Robin was being kind and gentle and as much as she loved it, loved the soft song of her words comforting her, calling her “darling,” massaging her neck, playing with her hair, it was not what she needed right now. Her sweetness was maddening. “No!” She finally said through gritted teeth.

“Lucina.” Her name was said sharply, and she knew from experience that they had progressed to the next step. It was well-rehearsed between them, their own language, a script they had played out over and over again. With a single word either of them could alter or stop the script, but that had not happened so far. The hand that had been massaging her neck fisted in her hair at the back of her head and yanked firmly, a warning. “Is that how you speak to me?”

She bit her lower lip at the near-instant pulse of arousal that shuddered through her. It set her nerve endings alight, placing them on standby in anticipation of what was to come. Her entire body felt sensitive, too sensitive. She was suddenly aware of the abrasion of her clothing against her skin, the pressure of the hard floor on her knees, the fingers tightening at the base of her skull. She refused to answer.

The tactician accepted her nonverbal prompt and stood, pulling Lucina to her feet. She released her hair, placed her hands on her hips, and fixed her stern brown eyes on her. The kindness, gentleness had left her expression, but the princess knew it was still there, lurking under the surface of her austerity. A single word could bring it back to the forefront, but she did not want it. Standing, she was a solid head taller than the white-haired tactician, but height did not diminish her presence. “Take off your falchion.”

It was hard not to instinctually obey, but Lucina did not move. She wanted to see how far she could push the tactician, so she kept her eyes fixed at her feet, knowing if she looked at her she’d be stirred into compliance by her commanding gaze.

There was a moment of silence, hesitation, uncertainty as Robin evaluated her silence. This was a deviation from their script. But when she spoke, her words were full of the hard confidence that made the princess’s insides quake. “You will regret your disobedience.”

Lucina hoped she would.

Slender fingers deftly worked the buckle over her chest and around her waist. The falchion and harness were caught before they slid to the ground and thrown onto the bed.

In one swift movement, Lucina found herself face down over the tactician’s lap, staring down at the wood grain of the floor. Before her mind could grasp what was happening, Robin raised her hand and swatted her backside half a dozen times in rapid succession, each strike punctuated by a startled yelp. They stung, but it was nothing compared to the burning humiliation of her predicament. The only other person to ever strike her in such a way had been Robin, _her_ Robin, not this one, the one that had sacrificed herself to slay Grima.

With the same swiftness, Lucina found herself on her feet again, face to face with the stern expression of the tactician. “This is what we have agreed.” She said, her hands resting on either upper arm. “I told you that you would never speak to me in such away again, nor would you ever disobey me without consequence. Do you remember that?”

There was a curious sense of loss at being set to her feet, a lack of closeness. She glared at Robin, refusing to answer. Even now, she was conflicted. As humiliating as being draped across her lap was, she had still felt secure. Robin’s sternness was reassuring. She knew this is what she deserved, not for any made-up transgression against Robin, but for all her failures. For failing _her_ Robin. But she could not apologize, not yet. Even as her cheeks burned, she felt oddly at peace.

“Now, are you ready to talk about what is bothering you reasonably?” Robin tone softened, but only enough that it was just barely detectable.

Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, Lucina did not answer. What was more, she found that she did not want to answer. She was not sorry, she realized. An ache that warmed her chest was need. She needed Robin to make her sorry. So, she said nothing and maintained her defiant glare.

She sensed the tactician’s reticence. “Your definition of reasonable is for me to shut up and agree with you.” Lucina snapped, knowing that her words were carefully crafted to hurt, knowing that they were unfair and untrue, and also knowing it would put an end to any reluctance Robin might feel.

She was not disappointed. Immediately, she was tipped over her lap again, only this time, the blows did not stop after the initial volley. In hardly any time at all, she was squirming. It did not take long before she was concentrating too hard on not crying out to protest. Unwittingly, she clutched Robin’s calf, clinging to it for support. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away furiously. She was not sorry. Even draped across the tactician’s knees, even as her backside began to sting fiercely, even being punished like a child, she was not sorry. Not yet.

The byproduct of being spanked was the arousal that spiked with every blow. Even as she squirmed to avoid each, she craved it, the mix of pain and pleasure rendering her dizzy. The awareness of her complete lack of control over the punishment only turned her on more. Robin had taken the choice away from her, and it had made her utterly wet.

The smacks maintained their pace but increased in force until Lucina could not refrain from crying out. She began to struggle and squirm, but Robin held her firmly in place. After several yelps and whimpers escaped her lips, she finally relented. “I’m sorry!” She whimpered. “Please, Robin, I’m sorry.”

And as quickly as it had started, it stopped, and Lucina was on her feet again. Her head swam with the abruptness of it. Their eyes found one another. “I’m sorry, Robin.” She sniffled, shifting her weight from one foot to another, trying to alleviate some of the sting. It seemed to hurt even more now that she had stopped.

The tactician’s hands reached for the waistband of her breeches. “You will be, my love.” With a swift jerk, her trousers and undergarments pooled around her ankles. Her undergarments stuck to her with the wetness that had gathered between her legs, but Robin said nothing.

“No,” Lucina pleaded, but did not struggle as she was put back across her knees. Any resistance left in her was swiftly quashed by the fury of the next dozen smacks. Without the meager protection her breeches had provided, the sting of Robin’s palm was increased a hundred-fold. Her deceptively small hand was as firm and unyielding as a wooden plank. The tears now fell unchecked, and her legs kicked of their own volition as if she could escape. But Robin put a stop to that by pinning her legs under one of hers. “Please, please. I’m sorry.” It became her mantra, but it fell on deaf ears.

She was not sure when Robin had stopped, but it was not until she was crying in earnest. She felt the weight of her hand rubbing her back, the unbelievable fiery sting of her backside. How Robin’s mere hand had managed to hurt so much was baffling. She had transitioned from scolding to soothing, and it was not long before Lucina’s breathing evened out, and her heart slowed into its normal rhythm. She felt relieved. Not just that it was over, but relieved that it had happened in the first place. Robin always knew what Lucina had needed even if Lucina herself did not know.

“I’m so sorry,” She cried, not apologizing to Robin but to all those she never had the opportunity to.

The tactician helped her stand, and Lucina flushed when she noticed the dark spot of wetness she had left on her robes. It had run down the inside of her thighs, cooling as she stood. As gentle as she had been rough moments ago, Robin helped her out of her clothes. “On the bed, girl.” She said and stood.

“But—“ Lucina needed her, needed to feel her close.

The white-haired woman spun abruptly and grabbed her by the chin, bringing her face close to hers. “On the bed or back over my knee. Clearly you still need to be taught a lesson.”

“No.” She whimpered, her mind simultaneously pleading _yes!_ She crawled on the bed, lay on her stomach. Eyes closed, she preferred to be surprised by whatever the tactician had in store for her. This part of their script was usually improvised. Fabric whispered. A drawer opened and closed. Metal clinked. Her whole body felt warm and languid with dizzy anticipation.

The smaller woman returned and took her hand in her own, gently pulling it to the headboard. Coarse leather was buckled around her wrist. A moment of tension, a brief tug, and Lucina confirmed that she had been cuffed to the headboard. The action was repeated with her opposite wrist. She felt her hair being swept from her brow, a gentle kiss placed on her temple, and a whisper. “Color?”

“Green.” Lucina smiled faintly, happily.

“Good girl.”

The praise practically caused her to melt into the bed, but she was not given long to enjoy it. “Ah!” She cried out at the unexpected smack to her already stinging and red ass.

“Get your knees under yourself, girl. Lift that ass for me.” Robin was behind her on the bed now. “It’s time we finish your lesson, so you remember who you belong to.”

She did as she was told, pulling her knees under her so her back arched and her ass was lifted. She leaned forward on her elbows to alleviate some of the stress on her back. “You, Robin.” She breathed and licked her lips.

“That’s right, my sweet girl.” The bed sank as Robin knelt behind her and ran a hand along the inside of one of her thighs. The sound she made in the back of her throat a clear hum of pleasure at the wetness she found there. “But you’re still going to learn your lesson, one way or another, so you never forget that.” Without warning, Robin filled her.

At first, Lucina thought it was with her fingers, but the shaft was too smooth, too thick for it to be the smaller woman’s digits. When she grabbed her hips and pulled her back into her own pelvis, Lucina knew she wore the strapped-on phallus she loved so much. She gasped into the pillow. “Fuck—” She was cut off by another deep, savage thrust.

“Such language.”

The world seemed to fade to a dull buzz around her. She was only aware of sensation, of pure feeling, her conscious mind melting away. Robin’s fingers dug into her hips. She clenched around the phallus, every thrust driving her upper body forward on the bed. Her fists clenched and relaxed, the leather biting into her skin as she tugged helplessly at her restraints. She moaned throatily as need coiled tighter and tighter as Robin mercilessly fucked her.

“Please.” Lucina began begging, this time for an entirely different reason. Her arousal was wound so tightly that it was almost painful. But the rhythmic penetration wasn’t enough to push her over the edge, she needed more. She needed—

A hand reached around her hip, and fingers sought her clit. Robin moaned at the slick heat she found, and Lucina keened with the first brush of an index finger against the swollen bundle of nerves. “Who do you belong to?” Robin asked, the words coming in ragged pants while her fingers worked her clit slowly in contradiction to the quick, hard thrusts of the phallus. Frustrated tears leaked from her eyes. She was so close; she was not capable of words. “I’m not going to let you cum until you say it.”

The command not to cum was almost enough to push Lucina over the edge, and she whined. “Please.”

“Tell me, Lucina.”

Hearing her name on the tactician’s lips was enough to undo her. “You! Yours. I’m always yours!” She nearly screamed, heedless of who heard them. Her need was panicked, frenzied. She needed release, she needed to be absolved.

Robin grunted, her fingers pinching on her clit hard, rubbing it with the same furious rhythm with which she fucked her. “Cum.”

Lucina did. She bit into the pillow, sobbing her release to keep from screaming again as powerful waves of pleasure tore through the last bits of her restraint. Her muscles trembled, her thighs shook, weakened by the orgasm. Robin was gentle again as she whispered encouragement towards another climax that she was helpless to resist. Again, her body tensed, her hips pushing backwards into Robin’s, taking her in fully, grinding down on the fingers that rubbed her clit. There was no existence in the world outside of the tactician, outside of her touch, her fingers, her mouth, her voice. Nothing else mattered and her body responded of its own accord to a second shattering orgasm.

When she returned to the present, she was unsurprised to find that her legs had given out, and she had collapsed. She hissed as Robin gingerly withdrew from her.

She must have fallen asleep because when she felt Robin slip into the bed next to her, she was no longer wearing the strap-on and her wrists were no longer bound. “Come on, love. Under the covers.” The tactician lifted the edge of the blankets.

“But…” Lucina forced her eyes open and climbed under the blankets, gasping as her bruised and abused flesh brushed the cool fabric of the sheets. “What about you? I didn’t…”

“There is time enough for that later.” Robin pulled the blankets back down over both of them and opened her arms. “Do you feel better?” Lucina crawled into her embrace, laying her head on the tactician’s bare chest and nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Good.”

“I don’t know why I am like this.” She whispered, almost apologizing.

“Shhhh.” Robin soothed, rocking her slightly and kissing her brow. “A firm hand makes you feel loved. When you’re overwhelmed, you need to feel loved and reassured. It helps you cope with the loss, the grief, the guilt.”

“Being spanked and fucked hard makes me feel safe and cared for?” Lucina snorted. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Hey,” The tactician’s voice dropped an octave and was suddenly very stern again. “There is nothing wrong with you, and never say that again, because if something is wrong with you, what does that say about me?”

She pulled away to look at the other woman’s face, appalled by the implication. “No! There is nothing wrong—If it weren’t for you…” Words failing her, she leaned forward and pressed their lips together, pouring all of her emotion into the gesture, hoping her lips and tongue communicated what she could not.

“I know I’m not _your_ Robin.” The tactician said when they had finally broken apart, but their faces still so close together that their noses touched. “But you will always be my Lucina.”

Lucina buried her face into her neck so she would not see the tear that escaped down her cheek. “Yours.” She agreed.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any mistakes. Mistakes are mine. Be gentle.


End file.
